


past stains

by danvernite



Series: 14 Days of Quaranklaine [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Angsty idk, M/M, blaine can't forget, coffee is an important part of it, i almost cried writing this, kinda like the notebook?, kurt doesn't remember, old kurt and blaine, sappy af, starbucks!klaine prompt but i ran away with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23392492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danvernite/pseuds/danvernite
Summary: "I was asking about that young man who talks to me sometimes and brings me coffee. He's very nice, even if his bowties are sometimes hideous." Written for day one of the Quaranklaine Challenge on Twitter, with the prompt "starbucks!klaine".
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Series: 14 Days of Quaranklaine [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1682620
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	past stains

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! This is my reply to the prompt for starbucks!klaine on day one of the Quaranklaine challenge. I realise I probably grossly misread the prompt and made it an angsty fic about old lovers and coffee with no reference to Starbucks at all, but it's okay. Also I don't own anything, including Glee and the song lyrics used. That song belongs to The Beatles and... Neil Diamond, too? I think he wrote it. Anyways, enjoy!

The sign out the front of The Lima Bean was old and faded but in spite of that, it was as if no time had passed at all. It had the exact same smell walking in that Blaine Anderson would always remember, even if he was dead: cinnamon, mixed with regular ground beans and just a hint of vanilla. The smell of home.

But he wasn’t twenty anymore and this was in much sombre circumstances. Casting around, a small smile lit up his face as he caught sight of another familiar one. The small Asian woman rose gracefully to her feet. At least time had been kind to some of them, he thought. The grandkids had got them connected via Facebook, but in person there was a different sort of closeness and as Tina greeted him with a warm “Blaine!” and bone-crushing hug - which he had to admit, was surprising at their age - he felt all the heaviness he’d been carrying that entire week simply melt away.

They immediately got straight to discussing news of their former classmates; Rachel and Finn were off on another Broadway cruise for retired stars, Santana and Brittany had added yet another cat to their growing menagerie now the kids had gone off to college and their daughter was on track for a PhD. Puck had gone straight some years back and owned a car dealership. (“At least it’s better than jail,” Tina added, rolling her eyes.) Artie had recently married again, but that didn’t bother her, they’d been divorced for so long (“Some things just don’t work out.”) Sam, Quinn, Mercedes and the rest seemed to have tons of grandkids, respectively, “which is nice. I’m happy for those guys.”

Finally, Tina’s eyes grew cautious as she stared at the rim of her coffee cup. “So Blaine… how’s Kurt?” It was almost as if she didn’t want to ask, but he knew it was coming. Bracing himself against the oncoming sting to his heart, he replied, “It’s been rough, but… I’m going to ask him to marry me. Again.”

“That’s great.” Tina reached a hand across the table, grasping at his own, and the touch, though familiar, felt like it was from a distant past he’d found himself repeating. He remembered how the entire glee club would hang out here after practice, how everyone would silently groan as Finn and Rachel once again made out, how Puck would steal some of the napkins “for survival toilet paper. You never know, dude.” And, of course, the boy with the sharp blue eyes and an even sharper tongue who Blaine was mesmerised by. His first love. His only love for the past five decades. Blaine’s soul belonged to him, to this coffee shop where the memories danced alongside the aromas. Having Tina here for a moment brought all that back.

He didn’t realise he was playing with his wedding ring until he caught Tina staring there and he stopped, embarrassed. “He’s getting worse,” he said, after a moment. “They say he’s slipping away, and it hurts, Tina.” He could hear the choke in his own voice, all the pain and the sorrow. “He recognises me sometimes, but it’s so much harder for the kids - James refuses to visit now and Bernadette tries to hold it in, but deep down I know she loathes it too.”

“Oh, Blaine, I’m so sorry.” He knew she meant it too. Tina had always been the kindest and most sincere person he knew, besides Kurt. It didn’t dull the ache though, just made the throbbing in his heart more intense.

“There’s nothing any of us can do. I appreciate it, but he’s beyond help. He’ll never remember. The best we can do is be there for him, whether he knows it or not.” And I always will be.

“I remember the first time you guys went on a date here. Kurt would not shut up about you. ‘He knows my coffee order!’” she mimicked Kurt’s excited squeal that they had both heard so often over the years, when his new favourite show nabbed the Tonys or the Harvey Milk School got a new grant. He missed it, he really did. He missed the first time they came here, the first time he ever laid eyes on him and they ran down that hallway at Dalton because Kurt was such a terrible spy, but he just wanted to know this mysterious boy inside and out. He’d kept knowing more and more over the years, until he’d no longer been known to the other. That was the saddest part; he had a wealth of knowledge about someone he was now a stranger to. This was why this gesture, this small, romantic gesture meant so much.

He was still thinking about it when the barista called his name, and snapping out of it, he went to pick up a very special order. Kurt’s order had more or less stayed the same, a smooth latte with two pumps of hazelnut. Blaine almost cringed when he remembered how he’d lied that he liked that stuff on what must have been their second official date, and how Kurt’s laugh was like a bell as he screwed up his own face in disgust. “You never have to impress me, Blaine,” he’d said softly, eyes burning with something the other man had struggled to define as he’d intertwined their fingers under the table; Lima had had its fair share of homophobic losers in those days and probably still did, but to him at the time, to both of them, this secret love was sexy as hell. “You already do, in more ways than one.”

The day Pavarotti had died, the day of that first kiss, they’d been here too. Kurt got foam on his upper lip and that was one of the third or fourth they shared that day as Blaine gingerly leaned across and gently wiped it away. That was far away, too, along with the many other kisses and the past coffee stains. He would always hold that one especially close.

“It’s time I went.” He embraced Tina as she stood up, smiling at the hastily scrawled ‘Kurt’ accompanied by a love heart on the side of the cup. “I have an engagement to keep.”

“Go get ‘em,” she whispered in his ear. “You’ve always been good at romance.”

“On the contrary,” he grinned, “I’ve never been any good at it. Kurt was - _is_ the planner. Remember Rachel and Finn’s wedding?”

“ _Oh, Jesus. Not enough gardenias! Move that chair to the centre aisle!_ ” She laughed once more then they parted ways. He’d needed that, Blaine thought to himself as he got in his car. The memories of Kurt kept him how he remained in Blaine’s heart; bossy, could cut you like a knife in an argument, but such a loving and gentle human it still made him feel like a stir-crazy teenager at sixty years old.

It seemed like a long drive to Sweet Flowers Retirement Home, but finally Blaine pulled in. The usual nurse, Tracy, beamed at him. “For me?” She pointed to the coffee then shook her head playfully. “No, don’t tell me - that coffee is for someone very special, right?”

“You got it.”

“Couldn’t have come at a better time. He’s having a bad day today.”

“How so?” Blaine’s eyes widened with worry.

“He’s basically refusing to do anything. He keeps asking for you.”

His heart almost jumped out of his chest. This was new indeed. “He did?”

“Yeah, since you left last night. Asking when ‘that handsome boy will come back. I’d like to ask him out for coffee.’”

Blaine was practically giddy as he sprinted down the hallway to Kurt’s room on the left at the end. It was a testament to a life well-lived: photos of various Broadway shows they’d attended and the Playbills, photos with the kids, photos with their arms draped around each other. It was their own world, almost, and an outsider could never understand.

“Kurt?” he rapped gently on the door. “Kurt, I’m here.”

His husband was facing with his back to him and when he turned around, Blaine’s heart sunk yet again as he saw eyes he loved so much clouded with confusion. “Who are you?”

“Kurt, honey, it’s me, Blaine.”

“I don’t know anyone called that. Can you call my dad to get me out of here? I’m not old. There’s been a mistake. My dad’s name is Burt Hummel!” he instructed.

“Honey, you’re sixty-two,” Blaine reminded him gently. “And your dad died twenty years ago.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

“Sweetheart, please.” They were stuck in a loop again, and he hated those times. He held out the coffee cup. “I brought you a latte with hazelnut, two pumps. Your favourite. It even has your name on it.”

Still surveying him, Kurt lowered himself into the armchair in the centre of the room. “How do I know you’re not a spy?”

Even with the disease turned up to maximum, Kurt still had impeccable fashion sense. That was one of his biggest stipulations - “When it gets worse, make sure I don’t dress like a garbage bag is the year’s trend. I want my clothes.” - and Blaine had made sure the staff had adhered to it every step of the way. He was dressed in a designer woollen sweater with a silk scarf billowing around his neck and brown loafers. A pride flag brooch clung to it steadfastly, to match the one on the wall above his head.

Blaine himself was dressed in a brown tweed jacket with patchwork arms complete with a dark green and red trademark bowtie. As they had aged, it had become Kurt’s favourite outfit on him. He said it always reminded him of the old man from the movie Up and he would always cry whenever they watched it together. “You’re my Carl,” he would say between sobs, and Blaine would always answer the same thing back, without fail. “You’re my Ellie.”

Things were drastically different now, but for him that was still true. As Kurt stared at the cup, Blaine hoped it would jog something, anything, that he could selfishly hold on to for a few moments. Instead, the other man’s face drew a blank and he was forced to accept defeat. Placing the cup down on the table, he knelt down in front of the chair. “Hey, Kurt, you look nice today. Tracy said you were asking after me, huh?”

A small glimmer of recognition seemed to pass behind his eyes, and suddenly Kurt was a shy teenager again. “I was asking about that young man who talks to me sometimes and brings me coffee. He’s very nice, even if his bowties are sometimes hideous.”

Blaine chuckled. “Hideous? That’s kind of a strong word.”

“I like to be honest.”

“Hmm. Well, I’m sure he appreciates your honesty.”

“What’s his name? I wonder if Rachel knows. She doesn’t visit me here.”

“She visited you a month ago, with Finn.”

“She doesn’t visit me.”

“Sure, okay.” Blaine tried not to be frustrated. When Kurt was first diagnosed, one of the biggest things they taught in the support group was patience. It would take a few tries for the loved one to remember and sometimes, it was best to just switch topics and just be there. So, he was gentle and fair because that was what Kurt deserved.

“I wonder if he’s gay.” Kurt seemed far away, yet so familiar. This was Kurt in the early years, shy and unsure and full of yearning for an attractive young man he sang songs with, and it made something inside Blaine long, too.

“Yes, he is,” Blaine murmured.  
“That’s nice,” Kurt sighed. “I hope he has someone to come home to.”

“He does.” Blaine was trying hard to blink back the hot tears that threatened to overwhelm his eyes. “Someone he loves very much, a man who is very sweet and kind. They have children together, a boy and a girl.”

“That’s lovely.”

“Yes.”

“Do you sing?” Kurt asked suddenly. “Blaine sings, the young man who sees me. He’s very good. The young man who brings me coffee.”

“Do you want to hear me sing?”

“I doubt you’ll be as good as Blaine,” Kurt practically scoffed.

“I’m sure I can be just as good.” Blaine cleared his throat, and reached out for Kurt’s hands. “May I?”

Clearing his throat, he began to sing to a familiar melody, voice still strong and clear. _“Blackbird singing in the dead of night… take these broken wings and learn to fly. All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise…_ ”

He was on the second chorus near the end when he felt the hands in his squeeze back. Kurt was crying, tears running down his face, blue eyes no longer fogged. “Blaine?”

“Yes, Kurt?” His Kurt had come back to him and he felt his entire being soar above the clouds. He knew they would probably only have a few moments, but for now, he could rejoice in the knowledge his love was here again.

“I’m sorry, Blaine,” Kurt croaked. “I’m sorry, I forgot again... I forgot you, how are the kids? How’s Bernadette and our Jamie? I -”

“Everyone’s fine, baby. I promise. You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing, ever.”

“I love you,” he whispered, reaching down to cup Blaine’s face in his hands, and kiss and cradle it. “Thank you for not leaving me.”

“I could never leave you, never.” Blaine was crying too, now, stroking his face in return and rising to his feet to kiss Kurt softly. “If this is all we have, I’m grateful.”

“I don’t want to forget again.”

“I know.” Blaine kneeled again and reached into his pocket. “Which is why I’m making a new memory.”

Kurt gasped at the sight of Blaine holding out a black box containing his old engagement ring. “Blaine, what -”

Since the dementia, they’d done this a thousand times with the exact same response, but Blaine would do it a thousand times more if it brought his soulmate back to him. Taking a hold of Kurt’s hand, he said, “Kurt Hummel, will you marry me… again?”

“Yes,” Kurt choked without hesitation. “A hundred million times, yes!”

And even though Blaine knew this would soon be forgotten, that he would soon slip off the ring he’d put on Kurt’s finger and put it back in the box, he was grateful to relive the memory as many times as Kurt remembered. His lips kissed up his ring finger, past the ring and peppered kisses across Kurt’s face as much as he could before their time was up. This time, though, Kurt said something unexpected. “Stay with me, please. I need you to stay before I go away again, Blaine.” He gestured to the bed in the corner. “We can lie down here and you can go with me, love. Please.”

The sorrow that wracked his voice was totally foreign, as if he was deciding upon something difficult, and Blaine knew he was.

“The kids will understand,” Kurt added. “I know they hate seeing me this way.” His blue eyes, the same blue eyes Blaine knew he would follow anywhere, were full of certainty. “Follow me, Blaine.”

“Okay,” he found himself whispering back. “Okay.”

This was how they were found, almost two hours later, curled up together on a too-tiny bed and both with no pulse. It was as if the same force that had willed them together had also whisked them away together. They were buried together, too, with a huge funeral and lots of family and friends. They were celebrated, as much for their unbreakable love as the people they were.

Somewhere, in another life, a boy with warm brown hair and bright blue eyes walked into The Lima Bean coffee shop and found that a latte with two pumps of hazelnut was already waiting for him. He stared up at the boy with gentle hazel eyes and brown curly hair, grinning, as he asked, “You know my coffee order?”

And the boy, inevitably, replied: “I always will.”


End file.
